Wild
by Sunny-Dumpling
Summary: The soon-to-Dragonborn tries to keep her secrets to herself, but not everybody is fooled.Farkas knows the newest member of the companions is hiding something, and he will not remain complacent. BAD SUMMARY. Dragonborn/Farkas. Rated T for now, may change in the future.
1. Prologue

That morning had come like many others before. The air around Skyrim was cool and crisp, yet a moist fog had set in by the time she awoke. It wasn't all that different to begin with from her own motherland of High Rock. But gradually the windswept plains and plateaus she had known so well in her childhood begin to slowly transform into rolling hills, then to craggy mountains. She hadn't known how to handle the great mountains that Skyrim was known for at first. She had tried to avoid them, hoping the monstrous mountain ranges might end at some point. . But the mountains and peaks of Skyrim were unyielding and unending, they seemed to be infinite in their breadth and heights. Once or twice she pondered on the idea of turning back, but quickly had to remind herself why she had left in the first place. She could never go back

When the mountains offered no quarter, she had finally yielded to the land itself, making the fateful decision to brave the mountain passes to try and make a new life in this fabled land. She couldn't decide at that moment, sitting on a wagon in chains whether or not she had made the right decision.

While the morning had begun like those preceding it, it had ended much differently. The night had not been kind to her. She had fallen asleep long before the sun sunk below the horizon, and awoke while the sun was high overhead. Yet she still could not shake the feeling of exhaustion from her mind or body. But none of it mattered now, as she had learned soon enough.

"Hey you- you're finally awake."

Her head was spinning. There was a sort of throbbing pain at the back of her skull. Parting the hair with unsteady fingers, she began to sober up when her fingers came back with crusted and wet blood.

"You were trying to cross the border right?" The man continued "Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us- and that thief over there." He gestured toward the ragged man next to him, looking all but horrified in his chains. "You put up quite a fight." He smiled.

Ambush…she could hardly remember the rest of that morning. She had found a mountain pass the night before, but decided to wait until the next morning to brave it. The well-trodden path had made her initially wary, but she didn't have much of a choice at this point. She had been traveling for a couple of days along the mountain ranges, and what few supplies she had began to dwindle to almost nothing.

"Damn you Stormcloaks…" the thief muttered, avoiding eye-contact "Skyrim was fine until you came alone- empire was nice and lazy." He sighed in contempt "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now…"

She remembered now. Only a few steps into the pass proper had she encountered a small halfway house, appearing to be empty. Snow had piled up at the door, indicating that no one had left or entered the house in a while. A soft whicker of a horse attracted her attention.

There was a quaint stable beside the house, containing a single horse, saddle and all. The dapple grey courser seemed healthy enough. It was obvious that this was no ordinary horse, it had come from good-stock, it was well-muscled and had an almost regal stature. Something wasn't right.

The footfalls of unorganized marching and the rustling of chainmail approaching from down the path caught her attention then. The horse whinnied in distress and she turned around to see the courser being mounted by a scraggly man. It had all happened so fast from there. A line of Imperial soldiers blocked the exit to the pass as bowmen materialized from behind the boulders and rock formations of the pass.

He sat up and nodded up at her, his eyebrows furrowing into a thoughtful expression "You and me…we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants."

Within a few short seconds both she and the would-be thief were being herded towards the source of the noise. There had been some struggled from the marchers but as they approached she could see they had yielded. There was little chance of escape, she could see that easily.

Panic had begun to set in at that point, though there was little she could do to stifle it. It seemed the walls of the pass were beginning to close in around her, her breaths were becoming shallow- a result of the mountain air she told herself. She had only heard the panicked voice not her own before a biting pain overtook her vision with a great blackness.

The Stormcloak seemed to smile a little at that "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now."

This was the fate that awaited her in the fabled land of Skyrim? While she admitted this was not what she had in mind when she began her journey, thinking on it now, it may be for the best.

"Shut up back there." The imperial driving the cart demanded, rather annoyed.

The thief shot an irritated look at the driver, but quickly thought better of his words "What's wrong with him?" He gestured towards the man across from him, sitting next to her. She hadn't noticed him.

He was distinguished from the rest of the lot by his fine clothes. He wore a woolen doublet,with luxurious gold stitching. He had a luxe fur hanging about his shoulders, the soft hairs ebbing in the brisk

"Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!" The Stormcloak man announced, rather proudly.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" He asked aloud, rather confused. Soon enough he realized what this meant "You're the leader of the rebellion….but if they captured you- Oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," The Stormcloak furrowed his brow, ",but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde… she wasn't familiar with this place. Perhaps it was a prison?

"No, this can't be happening! This isn't happening!" the thief held a look of true fear upon his visage, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead despite the cold.

There was a long moment of silence as they approached the gates of the keep. A strong and undeniable sense of foreboding washed over her, and likely the others with her.

"What village are you from, horse-thief?" The Stormcloak asked suddenly as they neared the gate.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Stormcloak continued, looking thoughtfully down the road from whence they came.

So then this was the end.

She was no Nord, but she wanted dearly to think of home as well. She lived on a sheep farm with her parents, her younger brother Gaston and their sheepdog, Mopps on the Eastern Steppes of High Rock. Life was simple. Life was good. Dimitri, the young blacksmith's son from the nearby village had been courting her when she came to sell the farm's wares, telling her when she came of age they would be together. It was a good arrangement she knew. Dimitri was handsome enough, he had ashy blonde hair, he was well muscled from his father's training. He had a bright future as a future blacksmith. She could live a better life. She wouldn't have to work. Everything was going to work out perfectly.

"Rorikstead…I'm from Rorikstead…" He admitted to no one in particular.

"General Tulius! The headsman is waiting!"

It didn't matter anymore, thinking of home. Mama, Papa, Gaston, Dimitri, Mopps- they were all dead now. Soon they would be together again in Aerthurius. She could tell them how sorry she was, how she wished she could just go back.

The horse thief wailed, a pained look etched into his features as the keep's gates began to close behind them. "Sheor, Mara, Dibella, Kyrnareth, Akatosh! Divines help me!"

As the gates shuddered close the resounding clatter heralded her doom.

Almost too soon the wagon came to a sudden stop at the base of a watchtower

"End of the line." Ralof muttered "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief howled, looking back and forth between the wagon and the headsman's block that awaited him.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof said, somewhat annoyed now by the thief's lack of acceptance.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

An Imperial Captain approached the wagon, "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

Ralof sighed. "Empire loves their damn lists."

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,"

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof whispered.

With little hesitation Ulfric Stormcloak stepped forward and took his place at the line of prisoners waiting for their sentence.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

He calmly followed Ulfric Stormcloak with the same decisiveness, accepting his fate graciously.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the horse thief cried out. He began to run.

While everything else that day seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, as she saw the archers draw their arrows as Lokir ran wildly down the path. The arrow sailed through the air, almost gracefully. As Lokir crumpled to the ground she could see path he was making a mad dash for led to a locked and guarded gate. There was absolutely no chance.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain inquired, a distinct indifference to the death she had just ordered.

"You there." The man with the list gestured to her. "Who are you?"

She hesitated a moment, thinking long and hard about the person she wanted to be in death. "Nymeria…my name is Nymeria."

"You from Daggerfall Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?" He remarked as if that was what all Bretons in Skyrim did "What do we do Captain? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list, she goes to the block."

The man sighed "By your orders Captain." He gave her an apologetic gaze "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

So it really was the end.

"Follow the Captain."

She did as she was told and settled herself between two fellow prisoners.

"Ulfric Stormcloak…" the general clad in gold and red began, "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." He spat.

Ulfric only managed a strangled grunt through his gag.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

The wind howled fiercely through the mountains and passes of Skyrim, a roar of wind as primal as the land itself. If she just closed her eyes, she could just pretend. Pretend she was back at home. Pretend nothing had changed. Pretend life was perfect.

But she knew it could never be any of those, no matter how many times she prayed or wished. She minus well close her eyes and pretend the howling winds were for the first time since the time of Tiber Septum the land coming alive with the sound of dragons.


	2. Chapter 1

"A dragon?" Vilkas questioned aloud, "At Helgen?"

Kodlak nodded solemnly "The Jarl has just received word of it I was told."

"Could it really be true?" Farkas had sensed something different in the air the morning before. It was very miniscule, a tingle at the base of his skull. It was so subtle he dismissed it as his imagination. And he would have still, had it not been for the fact that the next morning it wasn't just a tingle, it was overwhelming his senses. It was a familiar smell he couldn't quite put his finger on, a sound he couldn't triangulate despite it's saturation.

He had asked Vilkas about it that morning. Vilkas had sensed it too, somewhat. But the way he described it, it wasn't as penetrating as he had experienced when he had first awoke. A 'queer sort of scent' as Vilkas had put it, did not even begin to describe it. It felt like the first time he let his beast blood overtake him. Everything was so visceral, every scent smelled like the purest concentration. The wood, the dirt, the stone, the forge, but most of all the blood. Sounds echoed in from all directions, he could hear the footsteps, the breathing, the beating of their hearts… the intensity nearly drove him over the edge the first time he had transformed.

But this was different. While the primal stimulation was similar in a way, there was little lust for blood. The beast in him was always thirsting, however he had managed to wrangle it in most days ,left as an afterthought in most of his inner musing.

Farkas withdrew to his quarters, leaving Vilkas and Kodlak to their own devices, he had no place in their discussions, he would simply sit and listen. By midday the scent had penetrated the hall. It invaded his senses and became like liquid fire in his brain. He had retreated to the hall to dull it with mead. This proved counterproductive however, and Farkas found that despite the strongest liquor the famed mead hall had to offer, the scent had only grown stronger.

Retreating to the courtyard Farkas hoped the scent might dissipate like dust in the wind, but instead found it's source.

Vilas stood battle ready, shield held in position, ready to take even the toughest blows. Farkas knew his twin well, he shrugged off most blows when he had his shield up- he held the line well. But not even Vilkas's shield arm was enough to stand up to Farkas' own blows. Vilkas had the brains of Ysgamor, but Farkas had his strength. He liked to think he got the better end of the bargain. However, it appeared Ysgamor's brains would prove sufficient against his current opponent, the source of his current troubles.

The scent-woman was not a Nord, if anything. Nord women were as hardly as the land itself. They had strong, wide shoulders, and arms corded with muscles, ready to handle anything the God's might throw at them. Brutish, but it appealed to a Nord man's sensibilities. This woman was everything a Nord was not.

She looked almost a child next to Vilkas, as short and waifish as she was. This was made worse by the giant warhammer she seemed to think she could wield. Farkas could accept that for some it might take some time to find a weapon that speaks to them, but he could not bring himself to believe this woman had heard even the slightest of whispers from that warhammer. She wouldn't be able to use it properly, at least not against Vilkas. Her form was all wrong- she held the immense weapon as if she might hold a spade. Farkas could not believe that this was the one responsible for his sensory overload.

"Come at me!" Vilkas bellowed, banging his sword against his shield, feinting a charge, but backing away at the last second.

The woman made a face, irritated by his attempts to egg her on. Vilkas sometimes had that effect on people, he knew all too well. She tried to swing the warhammer, he could see the skeletal muscles in her arms straining from the effort of it. The hammer never left the ground and she only managed to draw a perfect circle in the dirt surrounding her.

Vilkas let out an almost cruel snigger "Now you're mine!" He did not feint his charge this time. He slammed his shield into her, knocking the waif off her feet, sending her skidding across the courtyard. Vilkas let out a peal of cruel laughter.

"Come back to us when you can swing a sword, girl."

Farkas saw something flash in the woman's almost violet eyes that moment; evidently Vilkas had touched a nerve. She kicked away the warhammer and got up, not bothering to dust herself off. He could almost smell the rage seething off her, more visceral than the rest of her scent, as she picked up the twin pair of axes on the table nearby.

As Vilkas approached him to share in the mead, Farkas thought about warning him about the diminutive woman hotly approaching him from behind. Thinking of the many times he had been wronged by him, even if only in jest, Farkas decided getting caught off-guard was the least he deserved. But like Farkas, Vilkas shared the beast-blood and the almost feral growl that unexpectedly came from the woman's mouth was enough advance warning for Vilkas to turn and raise his shield.

She stopped then, glowering at his twin.

Vilkas smiled, amused. "Give me your best swing, girl."

She growled again, but turned around. For a second Farkas thought she might simply walk away. But quick as a viper she snapped back around, momentum and pure rage driving her blow as her twin axes made contact with the edge of his shield. Farkas only heard the rattle as the shield was ripped away from his brother's grip and rolled across the courtyard. The clatter silenced the courtyard as it echoed off the walls of Jovaskirr and the Skyforge. Farkas was the only who could unshield Vilkas.

Vilkas was stunned into silence. But it was only moment before Vilkas began to fill the silence with hearty laughter. "Not bad." He breathed.

Farkas chuckled a little despite himself. "What is your name, she-wolf?" Farkas nodded up at her, taking in the scent once again. He got the feeling he might have to get used to it

She took a few seconds to recover, wiping the strands of auburn hair that had loosed themselves from her braid from her face. She had no words for his question however, apparently shocked with her own actions.

"Whatever her name, she is of the Companions." Vilkas added, still chuckling.

She smiled openly at that. Farkas returned it "Welcome to the family, she-wolf."


	3. Chapter 2

_Don't always do what you're told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions._

Nymeria took in the words like one might take in the scent of freshly-baked sweetrolls. She savored it, a pleasant sound to her ears. She hadn't expected much when she entered Jorrvaskr, at best hoping for a warm bed to sleep in, at worst… she didn't like to think about that.

The people in the hall had been welcoming enough, but she had never actually expected to become an actual Companion. She never had a particular aptitude for the martial arts, and it had shown during her trial. The warhammer she had wielded then had seemed like a good choice then. She had wielded it well enough through Helgen as the stronghold collapsed before her eyes, managing to kill more than a few of the Imperial soldiers who had the misfortune of encountering the pair. Everything had seemed so dire then. But out in the courtyard with Vilkas had been different somehow. A weakness had overtaken her, everything took more effort, even drawing breathe was a struggle. But that was past now. Inside the warm inviting halls of Jorrvaskr, shield in her hands she felt much more capable than she had moments before.

As she wandered down the stairs to the living quarters of Jorrvaskr she could smell the lingering scent of sweet-rolls invaded her senses, she had sweetrolls on her mind as of late. As she reached the end of the stairs she could see a plate sitting on a small table with five neatly stacked sweet-rolls still steaming, the more than pleasant smell of cinnamon, butter, sugar… all it took was a few missed meals for one to truly appreciate the finer things in life. Thoroughly tempted, Nymeria approached the table cautiously. She reached for the roll at the top of the stack, feeling the steam emanating onto her hands.

"Hello dear," An old woman smiled down at her, though it had startled her nonetheless. She recoiled her hand and backed away from the table entirely.

"I'm Tilda, I've been tending the halls of Jorrvaskr for as long as I can remember." she greeted, giving her a friendly nod. "What can I do for you dear?"

Nymeria returned the smile, glancing uneasily back at the sweetrolls. "I was wondering…." Sweetrolls…. "…where might I find Aela?" She asked, her previous objective suddenly coming to mind.

Tilda placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "She'll be down the hall on the left, she might be in either room." She pointed down the hall where she could see the utilitarian walls draped with banners led into a small alcove with two rooms. "And feel free to help yourself to anything on the tables." Tilda gave her shoulder a squeeze before returning to her duties, whatever those might have been.

She blushed a little at that. How did she know? Tilda reminded her of her own mother. She had an instinctual sort of intuition, she always knew- everything. Ma had sensed something was wrong back on the farm. She thought she had done well to hide her secret, but she had admittedly been somewhat sloppy as of late. Ma tried to help her. But in the end she never knew, and never would.

She wondered if Tilda suspected anything. Sweet-rolls aside she hadn't exposed herself in any way, not since she left High Rock. It was beginning to take its toll however.

Briefly considering the sweet-rolls again, Nymeria decided against it this time. Sticky fingers was one of the last things she wanted to leave as a first impression on this Aela woman. If she wanted to do well with the companions she would have to leave a better impression on Aela and the rest of the Companions than she had left on the wolfish twins.

As she approached the hallway she could her hushed conversation in the room on the left. Aela seemed to know she was coming before she even came into view, halting the conversation upon her approach.

"Do you need something?" Aela seemed to sense her insecurity, approaching her with self-assurance. She wore a light, non-constraining armor. Lighter armor, lighter on her feet- made sense. As Aela's hawk eyes looked her over Nymeria eyed the hunter's bow on her back. The huntress in her name was well earned, Nymeria immediately concluded. The stripes of war-paint on her face granted a sort of primitive ferocity to her that she wasn't sure if she liked or not.

"I have your shield." Nymeria stated rather bluntly not quite knowing what else to say.

Eyes turned to daggerish slits, Aela looked her up and down. She inhaled deeply, as if taking in the scent around her. Nymeria didn't know what she could possible smell over the savory scent of sweet-rolls. She released her pursed lips, suddenly changing her entire demeanor "Ah, good-I've been waiting for this."

She took the shield from her hands and smiled as she looked it over. "You must be the new one"

Nymeria hadn't quite taken to the label, frowning a bit.

"This is the whelp Vilkas mentioned." The bald boulder of a man next to Aela said, nodding his head in her direction. His armor was much the same as Vilkas'- hard steel, draped in wolf furs. Both men seemed to hold a certain fondness for the animal.

"Such a tiny thing…" Aela hovered over her, her Nord stature lending some intimidation to her words "It's a wonder how you gave Vilkas a thrashing." She ran her hand down Nymeria's arm, examining and squeezing what little muscle was there.

Easing her arm out of Aela's grasp she rubbed her now sore muscles. "Lucky shot." She simply stated, hoping that would be the end of it.

"It takes more than a lucky shot to unshield Vilkas whelp." The man let out a hearty laugh.

Aela backed away from her, and looked her straight in the eye. "There's a certain… strength in this one Skjor. You can see it in her eyes."

Skjor frowned at Nymeria, giving her the same once over Aela had given her. "But could you defeat Vilkas in a real fight?"

Nymeria opened her mouth, but she was at a loss for words. She couldn't defeat a skeever in a real fight if truth be told. But she couldn't tell them that. They already held some sort of respect for her from the events in the courtyard, she couldn't just waste the fruits of a moment of unexpected strength. She avoided their gazes, hoping to find inspiration in the stone floor.

"A woman who lets her actions speak for herself." There was a smile in those words.

Approaching her with a certain caution, Aela forcefully lifted her chin to talk with them properly. "I see potential in you…" she waited for a name.

"Nymeria." She quickly said. She knew that at the very least.

"…Nymeria." Aela finished, tasting the name on her tongue. " We should go hunting together. I want to see your_ true_ mettle." She said as if there was some sort of strength she was hiding from everybody else. Nymeria wished she knew where she was hiding it, if it even existed at all.

"Lets have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head." Skjor seemed in a hurry to get her out."Ysgamor himself wouldn't have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here…" He muttered.

Aela lent her glance to the door "Until next time."

There was a beat of silence before the rattle of armor and chainmail approached the door. "You called me?" The voice was gruff and gravely, a certain tenseness to the voice, though one Nymeria already knew.

"Of course we did, icebrain." Despite her words, Aela sent an amiable smile his way. " Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep."

He didn't seemed at all bothered by the insult. "New blood?" He glanced around the room, slightly confused. It was a fair few seconds before he realized Aela was referring to her. Nymeria herself realized 'icebrain' was probably an accurate name as well. "Ah, she-wolf. Come, follow me."

She bristled at the name. She hadn't quite taken to all the nicknames the companions had given her. "I have a name." She said, somewhat annoyed.

Leading her down the hall, Farkas chuckled uneasily. "There are many who join the companions seeking glory and nothing else. But this is a rough life, one fools can't keep up with. I don't know a whole lot about you, but you could be just another fool."

"I'm not." Nymeria said, trying to sound self-assured. If she did, Farkas gave no indication.

He stopped at the end of hall. "I'll tell you what. Make a name for yourself. Make your name worth remembering. When that day comes, you won't have to tell me your name."

Shifting uncomfortably, Nymeria crossed her arms defensively. "And what have you done to make your name worth remembering?"

The question seemed to bother him "The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired."

"You didn't answer the question, icebrain."

Apparently the nickname was not open to everybody. "Some people think I'm not that smart." He glared "Those people get my fists."

A little uneased by the sudden hostility, Nymeria became eager to end the conversation. "Is that all?"

Farkas' mood lightened instantly, as if he'd forgotten what had just happened. "Here we are. Looks like the others will be eager to meet you. Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work." With that he left.

Left to her own devices, Nymeria had little idea what to do. Despite Farkas' insistence, apparently no one was eager to meet her. The living quarters were empty. In addition, despite Farkas' claim of 'pick a bed and fall in it' a number of beds seemed to be claimed already, given the belongings piled on or near the beds.

Finding the one bed tucked inconspicuously in the corner that appeared to not have been claimed Nymeria resigned to dump her excess belonings in the chest at the foot. Though it was admittedly little to begin with. All she had to her name were the various sets of armor and weapons she had looted from Helgen, which she planned on selling asides. Aside from those items, she wore a shabby set of hide armor she had received from the jarl as a show of gratitude for delivering the unfortunate news of the dragons. Though the appearance of the dragon had been a fair bit more fortunate her.

She remembered vividly. Her head on the block still sticky with the blood of its last victim she could feel the beginnings of tears well up in her eyes. Although she had told herself firmly that this was the end, and this was for the best, she still found herself feeling distraught as the headsman raised his axe.

Despite her initial acceptance of her fate, the dragon's interference had only confirmed that despite all her promises to herself, she would still live on. Mama, Papa, Gaston…their rightful vengeance didn't seem as important as her own life in those moments.

But Helgen, High Rock-it was all behind her. She was to begin anew here in the Companions. She would be a new person, a better person. Though she wasn't quite there yet. There remained still inklings of her old life, gnawing at the back of the mind. Her severe lack martial training for one.

Bretons had little need for swords and weapons. Bretons were more attuned to the mystical arts, a result of their elven ancestry. Nymeria was taught a few spells when she was younger, but asides she had never found proper use of them. The magic had not helped her on that fateful day, and it wouldn't help her now. But mayhaps a sword would have. In addition, the Nords favored the blade to the magics. If she wanted to fit in she would have to learn it.

The companions were a respectable group of warriors from what she had heard the townsfolk say. It would be easier and safer to learn first from those with experience than to charge headlong into Bleak Falls Barrow and hope to learn from experience.

She had heard people tell tales of those who dared venture into the barrow. Warriors and thieves alike seeking gold and glory, and they all met the same fate. All were probably more skilled than she. Despite the jarl's observation of her 'particular talents', Nymeria knew it would be some time before she was prepared to venture into the infamous tomb.

Venturing back into the hallway, Nymeria decided to take Tilda up on her offer of all-you-can-eat sweet-rolls. Although the pile she had been eyeing was no longer steaming, it was still tasted just as good. As did the plate after that, and the four additional plates that followed.

The candle in the corner had melted down to its base by the time Nymeria had exhausted the plates as well as herself. She had paid no mind to the others that passed her as she ate, apparently all the companions had gotten a view of her gluttony. The bed in the living quarters that had previously been empty were now filled with bodies exhausted from work or too much mead.

Relieved that her bed had remained untouched, Nymeria collapsed onto the bed, the full weariness of the days events now pressing down on her. Feeling the slight bump in her stomach from the overabundance of sweet-rolls she had inhaled Nymeria joined the rest of her companions in sleep.

When the time came to drift back into existence, Nymeria was plagued by a deep, empty feeling. It was like a pang of hunger in her stomach, despite her earier binge. But this was different. Her hunger extended beyond her stomach, her entire being ached with it.

Heading to the washroom to melt away this pain with a hot bath, Nymeria felt her senses begin to dull. She didn't know exactly how long she had spent in that bath, but it was to no avail. If anything, she felt even worse. She stumbled out of the tub naked, holding onto the vanity for support. When she managed to look up, she saw her appearance matched her condition. Her skin had turned sallow, her features had sunken in, her eyes a striking bloodshot red.

A feeling grew in the back of her throat. It throbbed with need, as if satisfying it was as important as drawing breathe. Not bothering to dry Nymeria threw a shift on and wandered out into the hall. She approached the hall where she met Aela, but quickly thought better of it when she heard muffle moans and caught sight of wild moving shadows beneath the door.

She turned around and ambled across to the other hallway. She approached the two doors and simply walked through the door that immediately called to her. It didn't matter which room she picked, either twin would serve her needs well enough.

It was pitch dark inside the room though Nymeria had no trouble finding the sleeping form on the bed. She approached cautiously, wary for any sign of waking. The only sound the whistled breathing of the sleeping form, she knelt at the head of the bed.

Pushing the tangled tufts of dark hair away from his face Nymeria could smell a sickly sweet scent. It was divine, almost intoxicating. She could feel it invade her senses, pulse through every nerve. Every part of her body told her the same urgent message- feed.

The form groaned and turned over in it's sleep. Suddenly sobered by the reminder that this was a _human_ Nymeria immediately backed away from the bed, horrified with herself. Pressed against the wall, she tried to drown her urges. But she was too far gone to stop now. She hadn't fed since… she had to resist, for them. She couldn't resist when it had truly mattered, but she could still come through for them. To show that her life had not been spared just so she might let others meet the same fate.

Despite her mind's insistence, her body pushed forward. The need for sustenance was suffocating her resistance, the need itself was akin to suffocating. A deep burning that begged to take what it was so close to. Before she knew to stop herself she was already rearing her head, preparing to sink her fangs into to deliciously pulsing jugular.

The moment the blood starting flowing came as a relief to her. The thirst had been quenched, but she still felt horrified. All her resistance had been for nothing. Maybe she had deserved her initial fate at the chopping block if she couldn't even stop herself from meeting the same fate upon others that she had her family.

She could feel herself slowing down after the initial thrill of the first bite had died down. The sleeping man had turned a frighteningly pale color. And it was at that moment Nymeria had summoned the willpower to pull away. She couldn't stop feeding, but she could still spare her victims the fate of death at her hands. She just had to find the will to pull away.

She stood a few moments, trying to recover from the events that had transpired. Her thirst still existed in some form, but only a bothersome scratch at the back of her mind. Blood still dripping from her chin and down her shift, Nymeria approached the form and wiped away the blood she had left on the man. If she were to continue this, however vile it might be, she had to hide it- and hide it well.

The twin was still sound asleep when she decided the time was right to make her leave. Slept like a log, that one. She wiped the blood from her chin then tip-toed around the chest of draws, careful not to make any noise.

The man on the bed groaned, pulling the furs tighter against his chin. She waited and watched, to make sure he would not awake.

This was her mistake, however.

"Brother, are you awake?"

Nymeria froze stock still, perhaps hoping that if she did not move, then perhaps he wouldn't see her. But it was naught but a hope. She hadn't had the opportunity to wash the blood away yet. The sudden brightness of the hallway had blinded her, yet she knew all the same that she was caught.

* * *

**For some reason I find the Farkas chapters easier to write. But I think things will get easier. ****I've been following the original dialogue pretty closely, but ****now that I've gotten the basic introductory things out of the way, I can start FREESTYLIN'. I know that Nymeria is pretty introspective right now, but I think I'll let her personality shine through when she's more at ease. **

**You should know, this chapter (or rather, the concept the end of the chapter was based on) went through multiple rewrites. You wouldn't believe what I had initially planned for Nymeria 'dark secret' to be. It went from bandits to magics to werewolves to what it is now. Thankfully I was vague enough about it in previous chapters so I don't have to retroactively edit it :D **

**Anyway, if you're still here, please review. Whether my story is terrible or so-so, I want to know how I'm doing so I can know whether to try hadder or smile in .**


	4. Chapter 3

The clear water was churning quietly in the nearby stream, occasionally sending the slightest of droplets of water upon the rocks on the shore. The wind whistled quietly through the pine needles, erring them ever so slightly before they gracefully righted themselves. In the far off distance, perhaps over the mountain, an eagle screeched mournfully. Downwind the smells of a roasting and crackling skeever corpse from the giant's camp wafted to where Farkas stood.

A dew had settled in over the forest, misting his fur with water. His quarry was letting out strangled breaths, blood gurgling up the doomed elk's throat before steam erupted from its massive nostrils one last time.

Farkas never ate his kills, the spilling of blood was enough to sate the beast. Aella and Skjor were much different he knew. They savored every aspect of the hunt, even the feast. Farkas never relished the beast blood inside him as they did, but he could not deny the power it gave him. While Farkas was not the brightest of the companions, no one would ever deny that he was a savant in his own right in battle. Even then, one such as Farkas still found use for the beast.

Farkas could hear the howls of his lesser brethren carry on through the darkness, their cries not quite reaching the moon's ears. He recalled a tale he was told he was but a child by one of the many temporary wards following the death of his parents. The somewhat disdainful khajit woman had a way with her stories, her words carefully chosen, weaving colorful tales that seemed all the more exotic with her gravelly purring twang. She spoke of the tale with a certain sort of disdain, as one might expect from the feline race. He wished he remembered the tale, but his memory was not the best.

Whatever the story entailed, the almost human-like cries of the wolves was an eerie reminder of the tale. If he listened hard enough the howls started to sound like words. His brothers in the night asking the moon 'why?'. It was a question with many meaning and implications, too many for simple wolves to dwell on. Too many for someone as simple as he to dwell on.

The wolves howled again in unison, their questions left unanswered.

Though for some reason, they sounded farther in the distance than they should have been and what faint smell there was of the queer sort. When he was outside in his wolf form every sound was amplified beyond belief. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but he learned quickly enough how to hone in on the sounds he needed to hear. He could hear the beat of a butterfly's wings if he so wished. But these howls were different. They didn't reverberate correctly, they sounded as if they were somehow muffled. He perked his ears to and closed his eyes to try to concentrate on the howls. When he next opened his eyes instead of forest he saw the dusty wooden beams of the ceiling of his room.

He often had wolf dreams when he hadn't indulged the beast in some time, at least he hoped they were dreams. It was known that Farkas was a bit simple, but his mind was always clear- not plagued by the fault of complex thoughts. As a result his mental fortitude was unmatched by any of his companions, a mental fortitude that was essential in reigning in the beast.

Despite this, it wasn't completely unheard of for the beast to overcome the sleeping form; both Skjor and his brother had reported these 'night occurrences' at some point. If them, why couldn't it not happen to him? His dreams felt like cloudy memories, but he always awoke in the same state he had laid to rest in. This reassured him in his belief, but doubt still plagued him in the back of his mind. If the beast was not sated there came a point where the instinct was impossible to reign in. The beast would do anything to quench it's thirst for the thrill of the hunt. Normally one would have a certain degree of control over their actions, but once at this point, the mind became so clouded with lust that anything and everything with a blood flowing freely in their veins was in danger.

Farkas forced himself out of bed; he needed to speak to Vilkas about this, about his dreams. Vilkas would know what this meant. If need be he would go hunting with him, Farkas knew Vilkas was reaching this point as much as he was if his unshielding was any indication.

Stepping out into the hall, Farkas slowly creaked the door open, careful as to how much light he let into the room. Vilkas could sleep through a siege, but the slightest amount of light would disturb his sleep.

"Brother, are you awake?"

Immediately as he stepped into the room Farkas could detect the undeniable sense of bloodlust in the air. It wasn't something he could see, smell or hear, but it manifested itself as a deep settled feeling of dread in his gut. It hit him hard and fast, so sudden that he could feel himself starting to transform. He swiped at the air and gnashed his teeth fiercely to let out aggression as he did most time he transformed. This transformation was unwilling however, and the motions were nothing but pure habit. He had to reign himself back in.

Farkas didn't know how long he stood panting against the wall, but more than a few moments passed before he could compose himself enough to proceed further. It was undeniable proof that his beast would need to be sated. And if the sheer bloodlust in Vilkas' room indicated anything, then Vilkas was in the same situation.

As soon as Farkas regained his composure he flung the door open and woke his brother.

"Vilkas…"

His twin groaned before squinting up at him "Brother…?" He sat up and groggily rubbed his eyes "What is it?"

The color drained from Farkas' face when he saw the blood soaked into the sheets. Vilkas seemed to notice too, a rather confused look on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vilkas got out of the bed, examining the full extent.

Farkas furrowed his brows with concern "When was the last time you fed brother?"

Vilkas seemed a bit puzzled before finally figuring out what he meant. "You don't think…"

"Have you been having wolf dreams?"

Vilkas' silence indicated his answer "I shouldn't have let it go on this long." He stared hard at the ground "You don't think she's hurt, do you?"

Confused at first, Farkas sniffed the air; her scent lingered around them. He had been so overcome by the bloodlust he hadn't noticed the scent that just a day prior had overwhelmed him with the same intensity. The scent was faint however, nowhere near what it had been just that morning. The she-wolf had been his victim. This was bad- an initiate knew their secret, and worse- suffered its consequences first hand. "Is she still here?"

Vilkas pushed his way past him out of the room trying to track the scent. It was not needed, as an evident trail of blood led them to the washrooms.

At their entrance she jumped around, holding her bloody shoulder. Looking more than a little worse for wear, the she-wolf had blood staining all the way down her shift. Claw marks raked across her bare shoulder, extending up to her face where it gnashed across her cheek and through her lips. "I'm sorry." She quickly blurted out.

"I…." Vilkas was at a loss for words. She was apologizing for his actions. Such selflessness was uncalled for. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." A couple of tears leaked from her eyes. She winced as the salty droplets ran through her wounds, winding down her chin a red color. "I'll leave. You'll never see me again." She quickly wiped her face with her sleeve, revealing long angry cuts. From the looknd depth of the cuts, there was no doubt that she'd carry these scars the rest of her life, Farkas realized.

The brothers were taken aback, but it was Vilkas who regained his composure to ensure what had to be done was done. "I'm afraid we can't let you do that."

She looked at both of them with frightened eyes.

"You know our secret. You have to stay."

Fright turned to confusion to relief of all things. She nodded wordlessly before she was suddenly reminded of her wounds, clutching at her shredded shoulder.

"I'll dress your wounds." Vilkas offered, his eagerness to make up for his mistake blatant.

Farkas grabbed his shoulder, "You need to hunt."

Vilkas sank visibly, it was evident this guilt would plague him a while.

Farkas approached the waif, more lamb than wolf at the moment. Water still dripped from her hair, her shift clinging to her from a morbid combination of blood and bathwater. Farkas avoided looking at her to maintain her dignity. It was enough she had been attacked, he need not stare through her shift in her moment of vulnerability. "Tilda will dress your wounds." He quickly glanced at her to make eye contact to reinforce his message, but his eyes inevitably drifted downward to the smooth curve of her shoulder, further still to supple flesh that stood out plainly underneath the wet shift.

Realizing what he was doing, she blushed furiously and covered herself before shooting him an almost shy glare. "I can take care of myself lecher." She spat as the brothers rushed out the door.

Farkas avoided further eye contact, embarrassed with himself.

A she-wolf was never defenseless, he concluded.

The hunt was simple and swift; both brothers knew what had to be done.

Vilkas lost himself in the hunt, his guilt dissipating at the scent of their quarry. Farkas took no joy in the act, but nonetheless felt relieved to have it over with. A mournful howl echoed far off in the distance, asking the moon 'why?'.

Farkas awoke like none of the night's events had ever transpired. Vilkas would be the one who would have to confess to Kodlak about his accident, and for that Farkas did not envy him.

Seeing Tilda preparing the table at the end of the hall, Farkas approached the hardy woman , an air of worry about him. "Tilda?"

She turned and squinted up at him before realizing who he was "Yes dearie?"

"The she-wolf, you dressed her wounds?"

She gave a puzzled look at the name, but answered nonetheless. "I went to the washroom, but she was nowhere to be found." She stared absently at the living quarters. "I hope she wasn't hurt badly."

"This is bad…" He said to no one in particular.

Paying no more mind to the aging woman, Farkas sniffed at the air, trying to catch scent. In stark contrast to the overpowering pervasive scent that existed before, this scent was almost familiar.

It didn't take long to find her however- she had never left.

"The sword isn't a tool! It's part of you, an extension of your arm!" Athis barked out, holding the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Hold it like this!"

She bent over and picked the wooden training sword from the dirt. "Like this?" Her grip was more relaxed, he noticed. This was not the only thing that had changed though.

What had been a bloody mess of shredded flesh just the night before had scarred over into two neat scars along her face. The scars on her shoulder were covered by her armor, but from her relaxed demeanor he guessed the situation was much the same for her other injuries.

It was inconceivable; there was no possible way she could have healed that quickly, at least not naturally.

He recalled her words the night prior "I can take care of myself!" She had to be hiding something. Had to. There was something very peculiar about her, something that became very apparent to him before he even met her. But from just the few mere hours he'd known her, he found every action raised more questions than they answered.

"Better." He huffed, "But nowhere near where it needs to be."

"I'm trying, okay? Just remember who's paying you." A smirk seemed to creep onto her face under her scars.

"For all the good it does me…" Athis muttered "Can't even find the blasted coin."

She relaxed into her sword-fighting posture, pointing her sword menacingly in Athis' direction. "I paid you, it's not my fault you can't keep track of a little coin."

He growled at that. "Ready!" He assumed his position, wooden sword at the ready.

She didn't wait for his go ahead, simply charging headlong- a foolish thing to do, especially against an expert on the art like Athis.

Rearing her sword back, she swung her sword in a wide-arc at Athis' head, a bold move-especially for the first. The move, while potentially overwhelming, had a downside that almost always outweighed its benefits- it left her wide open for attack.

Athis blocked this strike with little effort however, the only indication of the power of her swing being the resounding 'crack' of the wooden swords colliding.

"Bad move." Athis chuckled out before spinning wide to strike her vulnerable midsection. Her strike had failed, and she would lose for it Farkas knew.

"TOO SLOW!"

Faster than Farkas knew she could move, she sidestepped Athis' attack. He could see as Athis was still following the momentum of his missed attack the slight turn of his head as he began to take in the predicament he got himself into. Almost as if in slow-motion, Athis' eyes grew wide with terror as he saw the training sword of his opponent rip through the air towards his neck. He would lose before he even regained his balance.

An unsettling crack seemed to silence even the ambient noise around the training yard. Athis crashed to the dirt, a string of foreign curses pouring from his mouth as he held his neck that seemed to have an unnatural bend to it.

Farkas cringed a bit at the injury, but nonetheless approached the injured Dunmer to examine the extent of his injury before he took any brash action. The she-wolf did much the same, immediately dropping her training sword and dropping down to Athis' side.

"I….I'm so sorry!" She managed to blurt out, as she turned Athis onto his back.

"You bitch!" He spat out, rounding out his string of curses as he rocked himself back and forth.

She withered at his words before pushing off her gautlets. "I can fix this…" She whispered meekly, so quiet Farkas almost missed it.

"I can't feel my…I can't-" Athis blathered out in panic, attempting to move every part of his body to reassure himself it was still working. "I can't feel…my feel… legs…" He breathed out, his face visibly strained.

She eyed Farkas with panicked eyes, indicating to get help. Farkas took to the message and ran for the door back into Jorrvaskr to fetch Tilda.

The faintest of whispers echoed and resounded in Farkas' ears "I can fix this…"

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**A/N: Whoah! Look who's decided to update! I apoligize for the delay in the release of this chapter. I had about half this chapter written before I unwittingly put it on the back burner. This is my first ongoing story, so I'm still trying to find my feet and get into a rhythm. **

**Thanks**** Moojuice Nne of the Mayonnaise and Anon for reviewing, you guys keep my chugging on forward :D **

**As always, it'd be super awesome if you decide to review. I'm always on the lookout for advice, criticism and compliments... I'd love to know how I'm doing and how you think the story is going. **

**THANKS and Gig'em.**


	5. Chapter 4

She hadn't meant to swing that hard- she hadn't meant to swing at all.

But it was easy to get lost in power, especially a variety whose strength and magnitude she had never experienced, not even at the height of her feeding.

She felt so much stronger than yesterday, stronger still than that very morning. She had paid Athis to train her, but she had trained herself as well. Athis was a worthy teacher, but certainly not worth the price, especially with her lacking funds.

So she had done what she had to. The old bump-and-grab had worked the first time. The second lesson she would have to be more subtle, the more money she would take, the bigger the risk. She approached him silent as mouse from behind. He seemed to know she was there within a few moments, but she quickly bent over and pretended to lace her boot. Trying a different technique, she blended into the shadows and quickly swiped the bag of coins from his pocket.

Her successive successful attempts at stealth and thievery had an increasingly positive effect on her confidence. Even in her training she seemed sure of every strike, a reassurance that every move she made had a purpose in the battle. Her newfound strength after a rather tumultuous night was unwieldy in her current mindset. As a woman who'd previously had to put all her weight and strength behind a strike that could barely faze any competent opponent she had little idea of what her level of strength was and how she could handle it.

During her training session with Athis for the first time she formulated her tactics in her head instead of charging in headlong with the only objective being to swing her sword before her opponent did. She had gotten so caught up in the success in the heat of the battle, she seemed to forget that this was simply training. As soon as she saw the opening she took it.

It was too little too late to worry about the 'how's and 'why's of her current predicament, Nymeria was just thanking the Divines that she had not been practicing with a real sword.

"I can fix this…" She mumbled again as Farkas stumbled into Jorrvaskr, more to herself than anyone in particular.

She ran her hand along the ash colored skin of her trainer, pinpointing the indent where it was immediately apparent that she had hit bone. The neck and spine were the conduit of all the life's energy, if she had injured it…. It wasn't anything she couldn't fix.

Nymeria laid her fingers along the injury, breathing deep as she recalled a deep- almost primal energy. It pooled in the base of her stomach and ran along the length of her spine. It surged out through her entire being, she could feel her nerves vibrating with an intense vigor. It had been years since she had honed her skills, and she struggled to contain the manna and concentrate it to where she needed it; even harder still to concentrate it and have it manifest as the warm healing magic she needed.

It was a few moments of steady breathing before a faint light emitted from her palm.

Tha thump Tha thump Tha thump Tha thump Tha thump

Nymeria wasn't quite sure whether heartbeat that pounded relentlessly in her head was her own or Athis', but as she focused her concentration and breathing, she noticed Athis relax into the ground, his incoherent ramblings coming to a stop, at least momentarily.

Tha thump…Tha thump… Tha thump… Tha thump… Tha thump

Abruptly the light fizzled out in time with Nymeria's own breakdown. The corners of her vision had gone out, the world around her taking less definite shapes, colors seemingly glowing.

Collapsing onto her side, Nymeria could barely find the strength to breathe. Yet as the world around her slowly faded she still heard a hoarse voice strangle out a 'Thank you' before she drifted away.

Though time was impossible to tell when one was lost inside themselves, when Nymeria drifted back into a weary existence, she knew she had been burdened by the blackness for more than a day. Everything, even her mind seemed to ache. She tried to sit up, but every part of her body felt as if it was weighed down by some cosmic force, as if the gods themselves meant for her to stay sendentary. With visible effort, she rolled her head aside to look out into the hallway beyond.

Sweetrolls…

She chocked at the thought. The buttered and glazed rolls were delicious for many occasions, but waking up with a bad case of cotton mouth was not one of them.

The hall was barren, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. To her left on the nightstand beside the bed lay an iron pitcher filled with what she hoped was water. Her unsteady hands swiped pathetically at the air, just beyond was the pitcher. Gasping despairingly, Nymeria tried to move her body closer to the edge so she might reach the precious pitcher; it still wasn't enough. Grudgingly, she tried to roll herself closer to the edge, her fingers barely skimming the handle. So close, a swipe with a bit more fervor behind it and the cool respite would sooth the burning, pouring down her throat like a healing stream direct from the elder gods.

Reaching out once more, Nymeria stretched out her arm as far out as she could, her muscles and ligaments pulled taut. Still, her fingers grazed uselessly at the very precipice of the handle. Just a bit more, if she leaned a little more…

Fingers firmly grasping the handle, she felt a momentary relief before she felt her hips lose their place at the end of the bed. Before she could make any move to correct this, if she was capable of even that, the rest of her lower half followed and slipped off the edge falling with the rest of her body to the floor below.

The momentary pain subsided quickly as the water began lapping out of the pitcher and onto the floor. Nymeria might have let out a cry of despair at that moment, but all that came out was a raspy choking sort of sound.

After what seemed like an eternity, though Nymeria acknowledged that it was probably less than a few seconds, she saw from her position on the floor armored boots cross the doorway, before stopping suddenly.

"Gods…"

She felt herself being picked up and placed rather gently back into the bed.

"Water…" She managed to rasp out desperately as the figure covered her with the fur blanket.

"You're burning up…" They said before they left the room.

Soon enough however, the sweet relief of water began streaming down her throat as sweet as honey. So fervent in her consumption, Nymeria felt as eager as a babe at the breast.

The water was not completely rejuvenating however, and it was only after another cycle of well needed rest she regained most of her former composure, enough to comprehend her surroundings.

This wasn't the common room, that much was clear to her. It was a single enclosed room with all sorts of fineries lining the walls and shelves. The most notable thing was the display case near the bed she lay in. She knew this room. Somewhere in her cloudy memory she had been to this place before.

As if to answer her questions, a voice called out from the far side of the room "Ah, I see you've finally regained your senses." Aela smiled as she emerged from behind a folding screen.

"Aela…" she mumbled to herself in realization

There was a beat of silence as Aela came closer before Nymeria posed her question "What happened?"

"Sweet sister…" Aela sat at the side of the bed, tucking a stray strand of Nymeria's hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek gently. "First you will tell me what happened last night."

"It was just-" Nymeria began, before Aela roughly grabbed her jaw and forced her eyes to meet hers.

She leaned in uncomfortably close, not letting go of the iron grip she had on the young woman's face. "Not Vilkas' or Farkas' version of events. I want you to tell me what happened."

"How do you know..?"

Aela released her hold, a sinister smile etched onto her face "Vilkas, Farkas…even you aren't the only one with a secret." She got up from the bed and leaned over the display case, gazing at whatever it was that lay inside.

"You might have pieced together by now, but the twins aren't the only ones who aren't what they appear to be." She tore her gaze away from the display and looked back at her with icy eyes "All the members of the circle, we share a…gift so to speak. A tradition in the circle since the time of the Harbinger Trrfyg."

Nymeria stayed silent. This was a startling revelation, yes, but this was not what concerned her. Though mentioned in passing, Aela revealed she knew she was hiding something. It was her hope that Aela didn't know much beyond this, but nevertheless she would have to tread carefully.

"Now I will ask again sister, what happened last night?"

"I was in Vilkas'room…" she began, purposely leaving her reasons ambiguous. Perhaps she was attempting to bed the man, or maybe she was robbing him. Either was better than the truth.

Aela apparently did not appreciate the strategy "Do not mince words with me. I smelt your filth the moment you entered Whiterun. Do not take me for a fool." She sighed deeply, Nymeria swore she saw a flash of yellow behind those frozen eyes.

"You were feeding on the poor fool, I already know. It's a wonder you didn't wake the entire hall with all the noise you were making."

Nymeria briefly considering feigning all knowledge of this, but she had already earned enough of her ire at the moment. Incurring further anger might have consequences she didn't like to dwell on. Resigning herself, Nymeria began to recount the events in earnest.

"I fed on Vilkas, I fed until I found the will to pull away," she mentioned, a feeble attempt at some sympathy. "But as I was about make my leave, Farkas entered the room. I thought I'd been caught, but as soon as he entered something happened to him, something…awakened."

"He transformed." Aela clarified, though Nymeria had reached that conclusion herself.

"I didn't know what was happening. I stupidly tried to help him, thinking he suffered a sort of shaking sickness. But as I approached he began to…change. He started slashing at the air with monstrous claws, and I didn't have enough time to get out of the way before I realized what was happening. It happened so quickly, I…" She traced her finger along her cheek, following the path of the scar tissue.

"After I was hit I found my wits and got out of there as soon as I could. I eventually made my way to the washroom, but it wasn't long at all before they found me trying to wash the blood out of my shift." She blushed at the memory, despite the events surrounding it.

Aela seemed to notice this and rolled her eyes "What happened after they left?" She seemed eager to get to the real curiosity of the tale.

"I-… I'm not very sure." Nymeria furrowed her brow, trying to clear the haze from her memory. "I remember a feeling- something gave way."

"You don't remember?"

Nymeria tried hard to remember "I'm trying… I can't-"

"A shame…" Aela began, "There is no equal to the experience of your first night with the beast."

Aela let her words hang in the air, letting the implication sink in.

Nymeria was slow to understand, more concerned with what might be the aftermath of this conversation. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean to say sister, is we are all brothers and sisters in blood now."

There was a puzzled look etched into her features that hung on her face as she full comprehended the gravity of these words. Brothers and Sisters…. As these words ran through her head a deep pang of hunger rang and reverberated slowly and deliberately down the length of her stomach, bubbling up to her throat.

"Sister…"

The beast she had seen Farkas almost become… striking yellow eyes, a monstrous beast- an unholy hybrid of man and beast. Worst still, more beast than man. She shared something with this, she was now realizing. She could feel it, even see it now that she was acutely aware of this fact. A deep, sort of primal energy that lingered and coursed through every nerve and fiber. It powered her every move, every breath, every thought.

But unlike her previous condition, it didn't invade her senses. It didn't pervade her every thought, it merely lingered there as water behind a dam.

"I know you can feel it, the gift has its power- power that you can control." Aela noted, noticeably less hostile.

"But what if I can't control it?" Memories of her first night with her affliction flashed behind her own silver eyes.

Aela didn't miss a beat "You won't need to control it. You've joined the companions. Just do what we do best, and it will come as naturally as breathing."

Nymeria was still doubtful, and it was obvious Aela could tell. "Come sister." She stood up and motioned out the door.

Somewhat doubtful of her remaining strength, Nymeria pushed herself off the bed, a renewed vigor coursing through her. Surprised with her own strength, Nymeria found it easy to bend down and pick up her hide armor from it's place by the bed.

"Don't" Aela said, "You won't be needing armor…"

Confused, Nymeria set off from the room barefoot and still in her woolen doublet and breeches. Aela led her up the stairs and out the entrance of the famed mead hall. As she stepped out into the cool night air, despite her lack of provisions, Nymeria did not feel the biting cold on her skin.

The town of Whiterun was as silent as a crypt, the only sounds the far off roar of the wind and their own footsteps. On occasion, a passing guard would light their faces with a "Hail, Companion." before going about their business.

It was a long while before Aela came to a stop in the middle of the rugged wilderness of Skyrim, having led her through the city gates and until the city was but a figure on a map. Aela scanned the horizon thoughtfully, glancing up at the moons in reverence.

"You may not remember your first night, but this night… this night will stain you forever more. Many will never get the chance to be at one with their inner beast. So revel in this moment, knowing that you will be more powerful than anyone has any right to be. "

There was true meaning behind those words. An unfortunate series of events was what led her to this moment. Everything that had led her to this place was due to her own weakness. Nymeria had set out to Skyrim with no particular purpose in mind, only united by the unifying theme of redemption. She was a victim of her own circumstance yes, but in this moment, here and now, everything crystalized. She saw every road that had led her to where she was now, and all the paths that lay ahead.

The path that she should take was very clear.

Nodding wordlessly at Aela, Nymeria took a calming breath, before feeling her heart quicken. There was a sharp pain as she could feel herself changing, but it was not painful in the way she had come to expect. With each breath she grew, claws and fur sprouting, each inhale making her acutely aware of every single thing going on about her.

Far to the north, she could hear the groaning cries of the horkers on the shore. Every little insect crawling in the ground underneath her feet made she could feel. But perhaps most of all, Nymeria took in the comforting smell of her newfound sister. It was a deep, musky smell, almost nostalgic in a way. It was in this scent Nymeria felt a supreme feeling of belonging. For all her family had done for her, they were gone now. Now in this scent, in this blood, Nymeria found a new family.

With each powerful heaving breath, the growl lingering at the back of her throat grew until she felt she could no longer contain her euphoria. She closed her frighteningly yellow eyes, feeling the power inside her boil over before it manifested itself in her throat, exploding out into the night air as a trembling, monstrous roar that seemed to shake the land itself with its primal power.

Aela her smiled in quiet contentment. "It is time we hunt, she-wolf."

* * *

**A/N: Again, I apologize for the lack of consistent updates, real life has hit me with a baseball bat, so time for writing is few and far between. **

**Thank you to PrincessAnime8 for the encouragement, and especially thankful thanks for Y-ko for your criticism and advice. I've thought long and hard about what you've said and I hope you appreciate the changes I made. And I wasn't kidding when I said it was an insignificant part of the story. **

**To you followers out there, thank you for the continued support, but know that I've made some sneaky retroactive edits, but they're nothing you should reread any chapter for. Unless you want to, because that's fine with me :D. **

******As always, it'd be super awesome if you decide to review. I'm always on the lookout for advice, criticism and compliments... I'd love to know how I'm doing and how you think the story is going.**

**THANKS and Gig'em**


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